The Beginning
by Karis Artemisia Judith
Summary: When Kristoff meets Anna, their relationship gets off to a rough start, but little by little she works her way into his heart. Modern AU in which Kristoff works on an Alaskan fishing boat


Part 1:

"What do you mean _my dog isn't here?_"

Kristoff glared at the shrinking teenager behind the counter and the pimple-faced boy actually cowered, holding the clipboard up like a shield.

"I'm…I'm sorry, sir, I don't know! I just work the desk, I don't really…I just know that he's not in his assigned kennel, and he doesn't seem to be in the play room…but I don't know—" The words turned into a squeak as Kristoff shoved open the little door that closed off the waist-high counter from the rest of the lobby. The teenager stepped backwards and nearly fell over his battered office chair. "Sir, you can't just…I mean…"

"I'm going to look myself," Kristoff growled, and pushed his way through the 'employees only' door. The unfortunate receptionist fluttered after him, muttering helpless _sir, this isn't allowed_s and _if you'll just_ _wait_s, but Kristoff ignored him. He stomped from room to room, looking into each kennel and growing increasingly frantic as each one failed to contain his best friend. "Sven!" he shouted, hoping to hear a familiar bark, but he only succeeded in starting a cacophony of barks and howls from the other dogs. He clenched his fists, trying to stop his hands from shaking, feeling his palms go cold and clammy as his stomach twisted in knots. He should have pushed to let them take Sven out on the boat, the new rule was stupid, there'd never been a problem _before_, but they'd insisted a week was too long, and this stupid doggy daycare had seemed okay, right up until the moment when they'd _lost his dog._ "Sven," he muttered, "come on, buddy, where are you? I can't lose you too."

The boy with the clipboard was still hovering and Kristoff rounded on him, shoulders stiff with anger. "_Where_," he demanded, "_is my dog?_"

He wasn't a violent man. He didn't need to be—he was a _big _man, and that was generally enough to get people to stay out of his way, but now there was red rage clouding his vision. The sound of a door opening and a gleeful bark saved him from finding out just how far his self-control went.

Sven barreled into him, bouncing and licking ecstatically, tail thumping as Kristoff ruffled his fur, rubbing his ears. "Where were you hiding, huh?" he muttered. The dark barked happily and turned to paw at the leg of the girl standing behind him. Kristoff eyed her. She grinned sheepishly and gave him a little wave.

"So you're Sven's person, huh? It's Christopher, right?"

"_Kristoff_. What were you doing with my dog?" he demanded. He stood up and folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed, but the tactic didn't work on the girl as well as it had on the receptionist, despite the fact that she was even shorter and slimmer. She was just a little bit of freckles and red hair. Kristoff thought he could have lifted her with one arm. She leaned her head back and put her hands on her hips, although she fumbled a bit, like she wasn't used to the gesture.

"I took him home with me," she said. "I—"

"You _took him home_?"

"Yes! He was really lonely! He didn't like being on his own, he wanted to be near a person all day, and then last night when everyone was leaving he got really sad and he kept whining and I couldn't just _leave_ him here. So I took him home with me."

"You took _my dog_ home?"

"Yes, pay attention! I couldn't leave him all alone. No one wants to be alone!" Sven rolled over at her feet and gazed up at her with big, adoring eyes, his tongue lolling out. She knelt to pet him. "Look, I'm really, really sorry, but he just was so sad…And you weren't supposed to be back until this evening." The dog squirmed happily as she scratched his stomach. "Who's a sweet boy? Who's a widdle sweetie-pie?"

"Ugh, don't talk to him like that."

The girl gave him a saucy glance and tickled Sven under the chin. "Who's a sweet boy with a grumpy-pants for a person?" she muttered.

"Don't—" Sven cuddled up to the girl's chest and licked her under the chin and Kristoff dropped his face into his hand with a groan. "Look, I've been out on the water for a week, I smell like fish, I've been living in the armpits of five other guys, I'm tired, and I nearly put that pimply coworker of yours through a wall just now. I want to take my dog home so I can shower and eat at least five hamburgers and go to bed. Okay?" He realized that he'd said too much when he glanced at her and saw wide blue eyes, her soft little mouth making an 'o' of surprise. "Sorry, I meant—"

"How," she asked, "can you have possibly been in anyone else's armpit? You have to be taller than anyone I've ever met."

"_That's_ your question? It's just an expression. Just give me Sven's stuff, and I'll go, okay?"

"Oh! Oh, right, sorry." She dug into her bag and pulled out the dog's current chew toy and a ragged, floppy stuffed fox that squeaked, making Sven's ears perk up. "Here! Um, look, I'm sorry again about—"

"Don't worry about it. C'mon, buddy."

The girl trailed him past the receptionist—who flinched as they went by—and out the door.

"Bye, Sven!" The dog rolled over for her, then licked her face and gave her his paw. She laughed. "I like you too!" She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and grinned up at Kristoff. "See you next time, Christopher."

"It's _Kristoff_."

She bit her lip. "Sorry. Sorry. Kristoff." She peeked up at him through her lashes. "I'm Anna."

He glanced down at her, at the way she was chewing her lip, at the way she was fiddling with the end of one of her braids. Her freckled cheeks started to turn pink and he realized that a grin was tugging at his mouth. Kristoff forced it to turn into a sigh and took the small hand she was holding out.

"Anna. Right. See you next time."

She turned to go, waving as she ducked back through the door. Sven whined a little as she disappeared from sight.

"Hey, traitor," Kristoff said. "She _did_ kind of kidnap you. You aren't allowed to like her."

* * *

><p>Part 2:<p>

"…_Doin' the werewolves of London. I saw a werewolf drinkin' a pina colada at Trader Vic's, and his hair was perfect. Awoooo! Werewolves of London! Awooo_—"

Sven's gleeful howling in the passenger seat turned into an excited bark as a freckled face popped up in the truck window.

"Hi! Nice duet." The redhead—_Anna_—grinned at him.

Kristoff choked off the last word and hastily turned the radio off, glaring. "It wasn't meant for an audience," he muttered.

"It was still nice." She petted Sven, who was half hanging out of the window to lick her face. "Hi, boy, hiiii, who's such a good boy? You are, yes you are." She fondled his ears. "Where's a handsome guy like you going today?"

There was a pause, and Kristoff glanced over to find her looking at him expectantly. "What?"

"I asked where you were going today, grumpy-pants. Who did you think I was talking to? Sven?"

"…Yeah," he mumbled, and felt himself blush as a bright smile lit up her face. He cleared his throat. "We're going to the park, okay?"

He knew as soon as the words came out of his mouth that he'd made a mistake. He knew when that smile widened and she bit her lip that he'd made a huge mistake.

"Can I come with you?"

"I—" Kristoff forced himself to look away from her. Good grief, she looked _maybe_ sixteen. "I don't take people places."

"Um, you don't have to take me anywhere? the park's right there? C'mon, Sven says he wants me to come!"

"He does not."

"He does! Don't you, boy? What's that? You want to play? Tell that to Mr. Grumpy-pants." She hugged the dog's neck through the window and both of them stared at Kristoff with big, pleading eyes.

Definitely a mistake, he thought, watching the girl laughing in the grass, rough-housing with his dog, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling. At least she wasn't sixteen—she was all of _eighteen_, as he'd learned while she told him her life story during their walk around the park. Granted, it meant she was technically only a few years younger than he was, but he was pretty sure he'd never been so _very_ young. So fresh and soft and—he covered his eyes and groaned. _Mistake_.

Because she'd already pried out some of _his_ history, and when he'd mumbled the basics—fisherman, loner, adopted—her head had come up and she smiled a smaller, softer little smile.

"So we have two things in common."

"Two—wait, what?"

"We both love dogs…and we're both orphans."

"Hey, Kristoff!" He jerked back to the present, where Anna was getting to her feet and dusting herself off. "I've got to go—I'm meeting my sister." Sven whined at the loss of his playmate and rested his head against her leg, big brown eyes sad. She rubbed his ears. "Thanks for letting me play with Sven for a while."

He shrugged. "No problem. See you around, I guess."

"Right!" She started to turn away, then swung back. "Hey! Um…"

"What?"

"Well, if you ever want to leave Sven with somebody…I mean, the daycare is great, really, but he _hated_ being there overnight, he really, _really_ did, and…well, I only work there one day a week, because of school, but…I mean, if you ever wanted to leave him with me, I could keep him. I mean, if you wanted."

"I'll…I'll think about it."

She grinned up at him and he knew he'd made another mistake. "Great! Here…"she dug through her pockets, then wrote a number on the back of a crumpled receipt. "See you soon! Bye, Sven!"

Kristoff looked at the paper in his hand. Well, now he knew her number. And that she apparently _really_ liked chocolate ice cream, who needed four tubs of chocolate ice cream at once?

Sven whined pathetically as Anna dashed away across the park, and Kristoff frowned down at him. "She's too _pushy_," he said firmly. "You aren't allowed to like her."

* * *

><p>Part 3:<p>

"Sven! Hi, boy!"

Kristoff looked around the apartment complex as Anna bounded down the last of the steps so that she could drop to her knees and hug the dog.

"You're going to keep him here?"

"Yeah, it'll be fine! The landlord really, really likes me, and animals are allowed, and I sort of paid the pet deposit when we first moved in, because I was so sure that we were going to get a pet, but then…we didn't. It was complicated. But it's absolutely fine for me to have Sven here, don't worry!"

"Okay, fine, but…" His eyes traveled up the staircase she'd come down. "How many floors up _are_ you?"

"Oh, just three! It's no big deal."

"Three flights of stairs." Kristoff eyed his dog, and thought about his annoying habit of begging to go out whenever he was bored. "Look…next time, do you just want to watch him at my place? I mean, you could housesit, I guess. It's not totally gross, I promise, my ma makes too many surprise visits, and if he's being annoying you can always let him loose in the yard."

"Hey." She smiled up at him, the grin turned lopsided because she was biting her lip again—why did she have to _do_ that? "So you trust me with your house?"

"I'm trusting you with my _dog_, of course I'd trust you with something unimportant like a house." He realized he was grinning back at her and tried to stop. He didn't think he was succeeding.

"Okay! Well, next time, sure. We can try that. So…does this mean we're friends?"

"I…uh…I mean." He gestured helplessly at the truck. "I need to get going."

"Sure, right." She waved as he climbed into the cab, then he watched as she urged Sven up the stairs.

Kristoff rested his forehead on the steering wheel. "You aren't allowed to like her," he muttered.

* * *

><p>Part 4:<p>

_You aren't allowed to like her_.

But it got harder every time she grinned up at him, every time she bit her lip with that look that was somehow shy and mischievous and daring and nervous all at once.

It got harder after he let her into his house, after he arrived home to find her asleep on his couch, her hair a fluffy, tangled mess, her mouth open. One sock was dangling halfway off of her foot and she looked ridiculous and adorable and all too comfortable in his space. It was a mistake to watch her waking up, blue eyes blinking open slowly in response to his light shaking of her shoulder. It was a mistake to watch her stretch, her back arching and her toes curling. A big mistake.

_She's too young._

But there he was anyway, awkwardly asking if she wanted to stick around and watch a movie after he'd showered. There he was, absent-mindedly stretching his arm across the back of the couch. And there she was, taking it as an invitation and snuggling up into his side, clearly one of nature's born cuddlers. And he hadn't done a thing to stop her, not when she tucked herself into the curve of his body, not when she laid her head on his chest and draped an arm across his stomach. Not even when she fell asleep again, slumped over him and, good grief, _snoring._

_She's too friendly. Perky. Loud. Too…too sweet._

But he couldn't bring himself to turn her away when she called and asked to come over, not when he could hear the thick tears in her voice. Really she'd asked if she could come and cuddle with Sven, but he was the one who ended up listening to her choked account of a bad run-in with her ex-boyfriend, of how she wanted to tell her sister but also she _didn't_ because her sister would be so worried and she as working so hard, and how that was Anna's fault because she was helping to put her through school. He was the one who heard her voice break as she whispered that she wished her mother was there. And since Sven didn't have the right kind of arms, he was the one who found himself wrapping her up in a hug, letting her cry herself out against his shoulder.

_Just look at her. She's too far out of your league._

But he found himself thinking of her all the time, every day. He found himself looking for things that would make her smile-sending her texts 'from Sven', making sure there was ice cream in his freezer (chocolate, always chocolate, except when it was chocolate fudge brownie, or triple chocolate, or chocolate chunk), noting the titles of movies that looked like they might make her laugh. Somehow he became so attuned to her schedule that every Tuesday and Thursday he found himself planning his day around her, so that he could call her in the afternoon after she got out of her most frustrating class. There was just time for a five minute call while she walked across the campus, and he realized that he was scoring the quality of his own day based on whether he'd been able to make her laugh in those five minutes.

He realized that he'd made a mistake. And then Anna grinned up at him, teeth catching at her bottom lip, and he went on making mistakes.

He asked her to go to dinner with him, a real dinner. He wore a tie. She made him take it off. He knocked the bread bowl off of the table. She poured her water down the front of her dress. Finally they just left, because Anna took his hand and asked if he wanted to go back to her apartment and order Chinese take-out, and when he said yes she casually mentioned that he could meet her sister.

_Mistakes_.

It had probably been a mistake to kiss her for the first time when her sister was sitting right there—but Anna had been laughing, a smudge of sauce on her nose, and he hadn't been thinking when he leaned over to kiss it away, or when he followed it up with a kiss on the lips. He'd just meant to kiss her lightly, teasingly, and he barely registered that the kiss had progressed a bit beyond that until Elsa cleared her throat. And then he had to spend the rest of the evening blushing whenever Anna smiled at him, blushing even more whenever her sister looked at him, and wishing that he could kiss Anna again.

It had probably been a mistake to let her talk him into taking her dancing, because he had already known that he wanted her _before_ he saw her dancing, which was awkward and adorable at first, until she lost herself in the music and suddenly her every move was making the room feel hotter. It had definitely been a mistake to dance _with _her, and hold her close enough that she laid her head against him and he could smell her hair.

And it had _probably_ been a mistake to ask her to housesit again, because he'd just spend nine cold, bitter days keeping himself warm by imagining her there, in his house, in his home, waiting for him. Picturing her curling up on the couch with Sven. Picturing her standing on tiptoe to reach the back of the freezer and the elusive last carton of ice cream. Picturing her asleep in his bed.

Kristoff shook his head, his lips curling even as he tried to force the images down. It had been even worse because they'd gotten stuck out of radio contact and on the water for two extra days, and the daydreams had started to include him in the picture with her. Holding her. Sleeping beside her. Doing…other things with her. Things that their not-official relationship hadn't led to yet. Well, maybe it was time to ask if she wanted to be more than sort-of-friends, sort-of-dating. The thought of having permission to call her _his_ made the grin spread uncontrollably across his face.

Although now was probably not the best moment-actually he was _probably_ going to get an earful about leaving her stuck with Sven all weekend, that didn't make him slow down as he grabbed his duffel and jumped out of the truck, anxious to be home.

* * *

><p>Part 5:<p>

He woke up because a cold nose was touching his leg. The rest of him was warm, warm and tired and…curled around a sleeping Anna. Kristoff looked down and Sven whined faintly, apparently not wanting to wake her up, but clearly anxious to be let outside. Kristoff carefully shifted himself away from the soft, quietly snoring form, levered himself up so that he could carefully ease over her, and tried very, very hard to ignore the way the torn shirt she was wearing had fallen open, exposing a creamy, freckle-speckled curve of hip and thigh.

The throw blanket had slithered to the floor at some point during their extended nap. Kristoff picked it up and gently draped it over Anna. He felt a pang of regret as the folds of it hid her slim, bare legs and obscured the outline of her body, but she hated to be cold. _Shouldn't have moved to Alaska_, he'd told her when she complained. _Didn't have a choice_, she'd said, and stuck her icy hands under his shirt. Now she mumbled contentedly in her sleep—he thought he heard his name, a soft _Kris_ lost in a breathy sigh—then she rolled over to snuggle deeper into the couch.

Kristoff, urged on by Sven's nudges against his legs, crossed the small living room and smaller kitchen to open the back door. The dog went out, but he lingered in the doorway, still staring back at the couch and its soft, sweet occupant, his mind full of memories of how warm she'd been under his hands, how fiery and demanding and eager.

He hoped she wasn't going to think this was a mistake, because he wanted to keep her forever.

When Sven came back Kristoff knelt to fondle his ears.

"Well, buddy," he said softly. "I _guess_ you're allowed to like her."


End file.
